


Small Truths

by Vituperative_cupcakes



Category: The Gift (2015 Edgerton)
Genre: Bullying, Other, Pre-Movie, Sexual Confusion, failed pass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:52:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5043742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vituperative_cupcakes/pseuds/Vituperative_cupcakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon told everyone that an older boy had been molesting Gordon in a car.</p>
<p>That's what he told everyone.</p>
<p>An older boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Truths

This was how it all started: the sun beating down, Simon sweating in the front seat of his Ford Aspire and choking on joint smoke.

The heat changed everything. This and other thoughts rolled lazily through his head. The heat made everything move slower, made it softer.

With one exception.

Simon giggled and ground his thighs together. Yeah, weed always made him a little excited. It made him feel invincible, too, which was really why he smoked it. He loved feeling in charge.

He took a toke and blew the smoke up, sucking it into his nostrils and cycling it through his nasal passages. It was the one trick he knew, and he got plenty of mileage out of it. Chicks were impressed. Guys, only marginally less so.

He leaned his head back and breathed in the sun. It was a good day to be getting high in a car. Yeah, the car was shit, but he had a car. It was more than he could say for most of the guys in go-nowhere High.

Like the one walking down the street right now, in fact.

Simon killed the J. The guy was facing away from him, walking in that rapid, hunched-in way that tightasses have, but he would probably smell the smoke. And the last fucking thing Simon needed was to get busted now. He had a future. He was going places after school.

The cheap pot paranoia kicked in. Fuck. He should probably make sure the guy hadn't smelled it and was just faking cool until he got to the nearest cop.

The guy was hunched over, but even from behind Simon could tell who it was. He jogged up with an easy pace.

“Gordo, Gordo, Gord-do, how's it going, man?”

Gordon looked around. His face was already a mask. He didn't stop walking, but he didn't say anything cliché like ' _just leave me alone, man_.' Simon liked that.

He drew level and turned, jogging backwards to keep up with the other boy.

“Gordo. Hey, you know that's Spanish for 'fat'?”

Gordon stopped. His face indicated that he had heard that joke many, many times before, but he still said nothing.

Simon stopped in his path. “Hey man, whatcha doing out here?”

Gordon shrugged. He wasn't holding anything, probably wasn't on an errand. Just heading home to his trailer-trash dad?

Simon smiled. “I was just chilling in the pussymobile. Hey, you want to come with? Pull some really choice trim, you 'n me.”

Gordon just stood in place. He was silent, but he seethed. He was a seether. That was what Simon liked about him. Gordo just let it roil under the surface until it exploded like a baking-soda volcano.

It was several things: the day, the timing of Gordon dropping by, the weed making him feel right, all these elements came into alignment, led Simon to take a step forward and wind the drawstring from Gordon's shorts around a finger.

“Hey, man, it's cool,” he said, “just thought you might like to hang.”

“I see enough of you at school.” Gordon was looking at Simon's hand with such...Simon didn't like that look. It was disrespectful.

Simon shoved his shoulder with the other hand. “What, you too cool to hang out with me all the sudden?”

Gordon's face lapsed back to the more acceptable emotion of contempt. “Don't even. You told Stacy Marcus I had diarrhea.”

“You didn't?” Simon was the picture of innocence. “Man, I'm sorry. Maybe you should, like tell me these things in the future?”

Gordon was shaking his head. “You're unbelievable, man.” He stepped to the side.

Simon matched his step. “You'd better believe it.”

Gordon moved to the other side. Simon followed. “Would you let me past?”

“Sure. I just need to know we're cool.” Simon squeezed Gordon's shoulder familiarly. “Are we?”

“Sure.”

“Now, Gordon,” Simon had to step again to stop him. “You can do better than that.”

“Wow, you're so cool, Simon, I can't even believe it,” Gordon said flatly, “now, will you let me go?”

Simon raised his eyebrows. “What's the magic word?”

Gordon gave him a look that said _really?_

“Come on.” Simon shoved him.

“Fuck off.” Gordon shoved back.

Simon stepped forward and swept Gordon's feet out from beneath him, bearing him to the gravel.

“The fuck _—getoff!”_ Gordon struggled beneath him.

Simon smiled and caught his flailing hands. He crouched above Gordon rather than sitting on him.

“I just need to know—” he parried an elbow, “that we're cool. That's all.”

“We're fucking arctic, now will you get the fuck off me?”

Simon didn't. He was enjoying his power, the fact that at any point in time he could drop his weight and Gordon would be completely helpless. He straightened his arms, pinning Gordon's arms to his chest. Gordon was kicking ineffectively. Simon leaned in smiling. He felt so, so good...

Gordon promptly went limp. He stopped fighting and just lay there with a puzzled look on his face.

Simon was looking at him, taking him all in. Perspiration was beading in the mustache he couldn't quite manage to grow. Those odd, dark eyes of his were staring right back into Simon's. Simon could feel the weight and mass of him beneath, how solid yet yielding he was. Something was whispering in his ear, _today, only today, you are invincible. Today, right now, anything is possible._

Simon leaned forward.

Gordon's face gained a sudden, knowing panic. “No.” He whispered.

The smile dropped off Simon's face.

“What?” he asked. There was a terrible, nameless fear rising in him. He turned it into anger.

Gordon was moving, now he was using his legs to scoot his body out from beneath Simon. Simon's weakened grip didn't hold, and Gordon's wrists yanked away. Simon rose slowly.

Gordon used his hands to help him move now, awkwardly crab-crawling backwards. There was a frightened look on his face that made Simon's blood boil.

“What?” he snarled. “what?”

Gordon looked at him with true terror.

Simon felt weak, like his body was a suit of armor holding itself up while he slumped inside. He wanted to take a step forward, but couldn't.

Gordon held a hand up. “It's—alright. It's fine.”

Simon didn't want it to be fine. He wanted to hit something so there would be a reason for the fear on Gordon's face, because there sure as shit wasn't one now as far as he was concerned.

Gordon was scrambling to his feet, holding that hand up like he was bargaining with a bull ready to charge.

And the knowledge that if he came forward, he would be crossing a line and something would change irreparably came crashing over Simon. He could only watch mutely as Gordon ran back the way he came. He stood in the street a long time. Then he got back in the car.


End file.
